Inheritance Cycle One-Shots
by aryagonftw
Summary: A series of one-shots that occur during the Inheritance Cycle (minus the last one that I will post, which will occur post-Inheritance) , written in the POVs of various characters. Hope you enjoy! Ships include (both romantic and friendly) : AryaxEragon, MurtaghxNasuada, SaphiraxEragon, and possibly EragonxBrom. Rated T to be safe.
1. Author's Note

**Author's Note (please read)**

Hi everyone! Here is my full Inheritance Cycle fanfiction-I hope you all enjoy it. I just want to mention that if you're looking for a completely new plot and characters, this isn't the fanfiction for you. (However, please still stay and check this one out! Haha.) I personally enjoy fanfictions that are close to the storylines of the original books more enjoyable than ones full of OC's and the sort, so those closer ones are the types of fanfictions that I write . I'm not saying the other type is bad, though. This fanfiction is a series of one-shots that occur during the Inheritance Cycle, save for the last one that I'll be posting, which occurs post-Inheritance. What I did was attempt to write certain moments of the books in the POVS of other characters, as well as add a couple changes here and there.

I also insert parts from the Inheritance Cycle in chapters, and I don't take ANY credit whatsoever for these sections. They are intended to aid the reader in understanding the context of the one shot of the chapter.

These one-shots are mostly during Brisingr and Inheritance, and I'll try my best to post in order, but if I suddenly decide to write one in Brom's POV during Eragon, forgive me!

Well this note has gone on for too long already-Enjoy!

Nikki


	2. An Interesting Fight

**A/N: **this occurs during the beginning of Inheritance.

**An Interesting Fight**

Arya stood back as Eragon conferred with Glaedr. While Eragon's eyes were closed, she took the opportunity to study him. His cclothes were laced with sweat, the liquid darkening patches of cloth. Perspiration plastered fabric to Eragon's skin and belied a lean, athletic form. His chest rose and fell with speed, hinting at his exhaustion, and he stood with his legs apart, Brisingr's tip buried in the ground.

Eragon reopened his eyes and Arya observed the renewed calm within them. The same battle fire burned within his gaze, but the blaze had shrunk from a wild inferno to a deadly, collected flame. A sense of intrigue built within Arya, and she promptly directed her gaze elsewhere. "Ready?" She asked.

"Ready." Eragon confirmed, taking up his starting position even as Arya moved into hers.

Arya inhaled and shifted her weight, preparing. It had been a long time since Eragon had foiled her in an attack, and her number of victories led her to believe that beating him once more wouldn't be much of a challenge. She did, however, ensure she remained well aware of his abilities as a swordsman.

She and Eragon stood motionless, both waiting for the other to attack first. A moment later, Eragon inched a few feet forward and allowed a sly, handsome smile to lift his lips. The entreaty in his eyes fueled the heated intrigue Arya had previously felt. She skillfully sliced off the emotion, narrowing her eyes and keeping her expression earnestly blank. Abruptly, she sprung forward, charging Eragon with the intent of tackling him to the ground. Her muscles contracted and released, and she reveled in the physical exhilaration of battle. Eragon leapt backward, moving to the right. Arya stopped short, wary, and remained as motionless as a cornered rodent. She brought her sword in front of her body and moved it in a half circle before her, staring at Eragon. Glaedr's observation of the battle fueled her desire to produce a good performance. Arya then sought of a way to gain the upper hand. She was aware of the hold she had on Eragon with her physique and let loose a soft, sensual growl. She checked his form for indications of the success of her distraction and found him only slightly perturbed. Still, it provided her with more of an advantage than before and she began to descend upon Eragon, swinging her weapon in heavy, looping blows. Eragon blocked the strikes with his shield and moved back, allowing Arya to attack without him providing any opposition. Arya's confidence grew, but so did a sort of dissatisfaction inside her. What exactly she was unsatisfied about, she was still unsure of, but she began to realize it was along the lines of Eragon and his strength and capability in battle…and as a person. The emotion increased her incentive to beat him, to test him in a way, and she added to the force of her attack.

Suddenly, as she sliced towards Eragon in a vicious, curving slash, he swiveled to the right, sidestepping her blade and maneuvering in such a way that Arya turned her head to keep him within her sight. Belatedly, she realized her mistake and looked directly into the sun. She squinted at the harsh light. Instantaneously, Brisingr slipped under her left arm and jabbed at her ribs. The dull blade edge clanged off her bone. Surprised and in pain, Arya cried out, falling back a few steps. She stood and pressed her arm against her side while waiting for the ache to abate, and she stared at Eragon. The defeat had hurt her pride, as was expected, but another emotion overrode her damaged ego- Eragon's triumph had roused her in a way that she was unaccustomed to. She almost felt approving at his show of dominance, accepting it as a challenge to insert her own. Arya lowered her arm, and she and Eragon moved until they were set to begin again. They began to circle, and Arya made an open display of regarding Eragon with more confidence, attempting to inspire him to attack less carefully.

The combat lasted for only a couple of seconds, but it was long enough that they were able to exchange a torrent of blows, bodies contorting in inhuman grace and speed. Much to her irritation, Eragon was able to slip past Arya's guard with a bout of skillful footwork. He slashed her across the chest in a particularly painful blow and drove her to her knees. She remained in that position for a moment, waiting out the agony, until Glaedr ordered _Again. _Her strength had diminished since her last two losses, but she rose without complaint.

The lack of an evident winner surfaced in the next duel, Arya being able to meet and anticipate all of Eragon's steps, and Eragon hers. By the end of it, Arya was so exhausted that she stood with her sword buried in the ground, using the weapon as support while sweat cascaded down her face. Eragon did the same.

_Again. _Glaedr intoned, and though exhaustion hampered their performance, she and Eragon moved together in crude harmony. The intense combat stoked an invisible fire burning between the two of them, and the test of arms grew to a trial of Eragon's character. Arya wished him to prove himself. She wished to see if he had the strength in his limbs and intelligence in mind to match her. She did not entirely comprehend what she was searching for, or why, but she knew that she must. She felt compelled.

Arya hacked and stabbed at Eragon with fevered ferocity, and the sparring served as release from the restrained demeanor she constantly strove to keep. They fought to a standstill once more and ended up standing with their faces mere inches apart. Their swords were locked at the hilts, and they pushed at each other with the last reserves of their strength.

Their struggling continued without success until finally, Eragon raised his head and met Arya's eyes. His gaze froze something deep within her core and seemed to burn straight through her. In a low, fierce voice, he said, "I…see…you."

The words rushed through Arya's being, and a strong passion leaped through her chest and burned strength into her limbs. She caught herself an instant later and pushed the flurry of emotion to the back of her mind.

_Duty. _She intoned within the recesses of her brain. _Duty before desire. _


	3. Devotion

**A/N: **This occurs during Brisingr.

**Devotion**

Late that night, when the feast was finally over, Eragon and Saphira walked back to his tent, gazing at the stars and talking about what had been and what yet might be. And they were happy. When they arrived at their destination, Eragon paused and looked up at Saphira, and his heart was so full of love, he thought it might stop beating.

_Goodnight, Saphira._

_ Goodnight, little one. _

**Devotion, in Her Words**

_Goodnight, Saphira._

_ Goodnight, little one. _

She looked down at Eragon, her partner-of-heart-and-mind, and heavenly warmth built within her. After a moment, Eragon turned and entered his small-cloth-lair. Saphira remained staring after the tent for a minute longer. If love were a liquid, she was certain she'd drown the rest of the world with her love for her Rider.


	4. Unvoiced Concerns (A Sense of Duty)

**A/N: **Though it may be a little vague, this one-shot occurs during Brisingr, before Eragon marches into battle.

**A Sense of Duty**

Arya walked up to Saphira's flank and placed a hand on Eragon's leg. "Fight well, Eragon," she murmured, "but be cautious. If you or Saphira were to get hurt…" Arya trailed off. If he or Saphira were to get hurt, the very future of Alagaësia would be endangered. However, Arya was well aware that either one of their injuries would affect her on a much more personal level. She pushed her unvoiced concerns to the back of her head and searched the eyes of the boy before her. No-not boy-the man. She beheld the new maturity he possessed and praised him within the confines of her mind. She didn't, however, voice her pride within Eragon. The impending battle prevented her from doing so- she wished the fight to remain the main object of their focus. Perhaps a few extra words would bolster Eragon's confidence, but she couldn't bring herself to say more than she already had for fear of announcing her more personal thoughts. Faölin had once said that her sense of duty sometimes hampered her ability to form connections with others, and as true as it was, it had taken her many years to accept the fact.

Finally, she removed her hand from Eragon's leg and retreated to where Blödgharm and the other elves were standing. Eragon looked to her and nodded, eyes shadowed by his helm. The headpiece provided his face a dangerous, menacing cast, and she returned his nod by meeting his eyes once more. Then Eragon broke the contact and looked each of his guard in the eye. Their armor concealed their expressions, but each elf's gaze held the same emotions: grim determination, and acceptance of the hardship that awaited them. As Brom had once said, real hardship existed in living for what you believed in, and suffering for it. Death for their cause might have been considered noble, but surviving and fighting on required true courage. Arya steeled herself and took a single breath. Adrenaline began to drum through her limbs and the tips of her nerves felt on fire.

War horns blared in the distance, causing the entire army to swivel their heads in the direction of the noise. A brief silence fell over the Varden. Arya drew her sword, and Saphira tensed and partially unfurled her wings, muscles rippling beneath her flesh. With a tremendous roar, she sprung into the heavens, the courageous cries of the Varden sounding right after her own.


	5. Burrow Grubs, In His Words

**A/N: **This occurs during the chapter Burrow Grubs, in Inheritance.

**Burrow Grubs, in His Words**

Murtagh stormed through the citadel's halls, knocking aside servants without so much as a word. A deathly fear had encompassed him as soon as Nasuada passed out, and it had taken all of his willpower to contain his emotion, for fear of Galbatrorix finding out. Now, with the king resigning to his private chambers, no doubt accompanied by a concubine or two, Murtagh rushed to the Hall of the Soothsayer. His concern was reflected in Thorn.

_She'd better be all right. _Murtagh growled, making a couple detours in order to ensure he was not being tailed.

_I'm sure she will be, little brother. _Thorn said, but his words did little to ease Murtagh's worry.

He stopped short before Nasuada's chamber, muttering a spell in order to unlock the door. It scraped open, and the stench of hurt immediately filled his nostrils.

The lighting of the hall cast queer shadows on the walls, and Murtagh's heart dropped at the sight of the woman within. Her once beautiful frame was wrecked, slight and small against the slab of stone on which she lay. Various fluids dripped onto the floor around her, and Murtagh longed to avert his eyes from the wounds her body bore. He did not, however, and forced himself to look upon them as punishment.

They were of _his _doing. It was because of him she had suffered so. Though Galbatorix may have been in control of his mind and body, Murtagh mentally lashed himself all the same. He could have been stronger.

_Do not, brother. _As it always did, Thorn's voice soothed Murtagh and brought calm into his thoughts. _We cannot undo what has already been done, and your energy is better spent tending to her._

_ You are right. _He agreed, and he looked back down to see Nasuada open her eyes.

A powerful anger welled within him at the sight of her broken body, and at that moment, he felt as if he could tear Shruikan to pieces with his bare hands.

_It wouldn't be wise to try. _Thorn commented upon witnessing his thoughts.

His rage simmered and subsided, overcome with concern for her welfare.

A fresh lance of concern harried Murtagh as Nasuada grimaced, and he clenched his jaw, struggling to contain himself.

"Try not to move." He cautioned, and then belatedly realized she couldn't anyhow. He alleviated her pain with magic as he usually did, wishing with all his might that he could do more. "I'm sorry," he said, regretful, "I can do no more. Galbatorix would know how, but it's beyond me."

"What…What about your Eldunarí?" She asked. "Surely they can help."

He shook his head. "Young dragons all, or they were when their bodies died. They knew little of magic then, and Galbatorix has taught them almost nothing since…I'm sorry." He truly was.

"Are those _things _still in me?"

"No! No they're not! Galbatorix removed them once you passed out," Murtagh assured her. The ache in his heart eased slightly as the sight of her relief.

"Your spell didn't stop the pain." Nasuada said, and he detected hints of anger in her speech.

He grimaced. "I'm not sure why." He admitted. "It ought to have. Whatever that creature is, it doesn't fit into the normal pattern of the world."

"Do you know where it's from?"

"No. I only learned of it today, when Galbatorix fetched it from his inner chambers." He watched as she closed her eyes for a moment. Despite the gauntness of her cheeks and multiple bruises, her face held a captivating beauty.

"Let me up."

Murtagh regarded her with doubt. "Are you s-"

"Let me up." She repeated.

Saying no more, he undid the straps that held her to the slab. She got to her feet and Murtagh stated with his muscles tensed, ready to catch her should she so much as trip. With deft swiftness, he undid his cape and handed it to her. The shift she wore was thin and ripped. Nasuada wrapped it around herself and limped to the edge of the chamber, leaning against the wall and lowering herself to the floor.

Murtagh joined her, and they both sat in silence, staring at the opposite wall.

He gritted his teeth in despair as she began to cry.

For a while he sat back, lost in the sounds of her torment as he willed tears of his own not to spill.

Feeling a deep-seated hatred toward himself, he reached out to brush her shoulder. The feeling only intensified when she jerked away.

He didn't blame her- he had caused her more hurt in the past few days than anyone else ever had. He loathed himself for it.

He sighed with relief as she took his hand, and he drew her weakened form against his body. She continued to cry, and he tightened his embrace. He shut his eyes for a moment and allowed himself to take solace in the fact that he held her in his arms.


	6. Leave Taking

**Leave-Taking**

They stared at each other for a handful of heartbeats, and then Arya said, "Eragon." She had drawn her cowl as well, and in the moonlight, he could see little of her face.

"Arya." He looked down at the silvery river and then back at Arya, and he gripped the hilt of Brisingr. He was so full of emotion, he trembled. He did not want to leave, but he knew he must. "Stay with me-"

Her gaze darted up. "I cannot."

"…Stay with me until the first curve in the river."

She hesitated, then nodded. He held out his arm, and she looped her arm through his, and together the walked onto the ship and went to stand by the prow.

The elves behind them followed, and once they were all on board, they pulled up the gangplank. Without wind or oars, the ship moved away from the stony shore and began to drift down the long, flat river.

On the beach, Roran stood alone, watching them go. Then he threw back his head and uttered a long, aching cry, and the night echoed with the sound of his loss.

For several minutes, Eragon stood next to Arya, and neither spoke as they watched the first curve in the river approach. At last, Eragon turned to her, and he pushed the cowl away from her face, so that he could see her eyes.

"Arya." He said. And he whispered her true name. A tremor of recognition ran through her.

She whispered his true name in response, and he too shivered at hearing the fullness of his being.

He opened his mouth to speak again, but Arya forestalled him by placing three of her fingers upon his lips. His eyes fell to her hand as he regarded the bridge she had formed between their bodies. He lifted his gaze, and the light shifted in her eyes. With inhuman swiftness, she stepped toward him, taking her hand from his face and grasping his shoulders on both sides. Almost violently, she pressed her lips on his.

Cold jolted through Eragon's body only to be chased away by a heated, yearning ache. He recovered from his shock and grasped Arya's waist, pressing her frame against his own. Their kiss was breath of what could have been, and a press of acceptance for what was to be. A sense of finality hung about the way the two of them moved. A war's worth of pain welled inside Eragon amidst the moment of pleasure. Every fiber in his being willed him to stay, to forego leaving home, but he knew in his heart that it wasn't what he was meant to do. His heartbeat thundered in his ears.

All too soon they drew apart, and by unspoken consent, Saphira and Fírnen did the same, their flapping sounding from above.

Arya stepped back from him and raised one arm over her head.

"Farewell, Eragon Shadeslayer," she said.

And then Fírnen swept down from above and snatched her off the deck of the ship, buffeting Eragon with the gusts of air from his wings.

"Farewell," Eragon whispered as he watched her and Fírnen fly back toward where Roran still stood upon the distant shore.

Then Eragon finally allowed the tears to spill from his eyes, and he clutched the railing of the ship and wept as he left behind all he had ever known. Above, Saphira keened, and her grief mingled with his as they mourned what could never be.

In time, however, Eragon's heart slowed, and his tears dried, and a measure of peace stole over him as he gazed out at the empty plain. He wondered what strange things they might encounter within its wild reaches, and he pondered the life he and Saphira were to have- a life with the dragons and their Riders.

_We are not alone, little one, _said Saphira.

A smile crept across his face.

And the ship sailed onward, gliding serenely down the moonlit river toward the dark lands beyond.

**Leave-Taking, in Her Words**

"…Stay with me-"

"I cannot." Arya interrupted. The words stung like hot irons, and she fought a bloody internal battle to contain her anguish at his departure. However contain it, she did. Her duty towards the people preceded her personal wants and needs and she strove to be the leader she knew her subjects expected.

"Stay with me until the first curve of the river." Eragon continued, and she considered the option. The need in his voice rang clear and she placed her arm through his. Warmth emanated from his muscled limb as they walked aboard the ship and went to stand by the prow. The accompanying elves followed, and none spoke as the gangplank was secured.

All heard Roran's aching cry as it echoed across the plains, and Arya sensed the desolation in Eragon as he stood next to her, unmoving.

Finally, he turned to face her, and he reached up and pushed the cowl away from her face. Cold wind burned her skin.

"Arya," He said. He whispered her true name and held her gaze all the while. She trembled at the statement and whispered his in return. There was no one she trusted more. She watched the tremor that passed his length at her voice, and what she felt at that moment, she couldn't describe.

Eragon opened his mouth to speak, but she placed three fingers on his lips and prevented him from doing so. Both she and he burned with understanding, and words would only ruin the present moment they shared. It was meant to be, and they both knew that all beings, no matter how powerful, were subject to their destinies.

But she couldn't just let him leave. The moments they had shared and the pains they had endured made it that a simple "goodbye", would hardly suffice.

Arya believed in duty before desire. But she also had faith the man that stood before her, and the bond that they shared.

So she placed her hands on either of his shoulders and stepped to him, jerking his head down as she met him with a hard kiss. And no, not once did she berate herself for being a fool, and not once did she regret her actions, and she knew the same was for him as his hands found their way to her waist. She meant it to be a swift press, but he kissed her back with such conviction that she thought she might be ripped apart by her emotions, just as the spirits had split the skin of the Shade. Soon their lips broke apart, and she stayed pressed against him for a moment longer, eyes closed and ear on his chest, listening to the rhythm of both of their hearts as they thundered and raced in unison.

Then, she lifted her head from where it was tucked under his, and she stepped back and raised a hand above her head.

"Farewell, Eragon Shadeslayer." She said.

Then Fírnen took her body between his claws and lifted her from the deck , stirring enough wind with his wings that she didn't hear him return the goodbye, if he had.

With a quick spell, she made her way to her seat on Fírnen's saddle. She held her head high but couldn't prevent the single tear that slipped down her face. The drop landed on Fírnen's flank, sizzling into nonexistence from the heat of his scales. Then she placed a hand on her dragon and looked up at the sky.

_I love you, Fírnen. _She said.

_I love you too, Arya. _He replied.

Arya smiled.


	7. Update

Hi everyone.

I come to you with an update, but not a new chapter. I've edited and added to the last one shot I posted, Leave-Taking, instead. Please take the time to read it, because it is much better than it last was.

Thanks!

Please please please review, follow, and fave if you enjoy.


End file.
